


have yourself a merry little christmas

by ClassyFangirl



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Christmas, Developing Relationship, Family, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFangirl/pseuds/ClassyFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann isn't going home for Hanukkah, so Newt insists they both visit his family back home. They continue to not talk about their feelings.</p>
<p>Or: A Very Geiszler Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	have yourself a merry little christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine, if you will, a girl starting her first semester of college in a brand new state, homesick and lonely. She starts writing a Christmas fic in the beginning of September. And here, today, we have this.
> 
> You'll notice that Monica Schwartz is a far better mother than certain canon notes dictate, and that is because I began this fic, as mentioned, in September, and by the time the DVD extras came out, this fic was over three thousand words long, and I didn't want to turn back.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to all the lovely people I've met in the Pacific Rim fandom over the last three months, the beautiful, wonderful people who helped me survive my first semester at college. And for all the people I haven't met but made me happy anyway- anonymous kudos-givers, friendly commenters, all fantastic people. I love you.
> 
> Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, happy December twenty-fifth if you don't, and forgive me for the long-ass author's note.

“Dude,” Newt says. “We’ve gotta go to my parents’ for Christmas this year.”

Hermann pauses in his typing. He is no longer particularly surprised by Newton’s non-sequiturs, but this one catches him off guard for a moment. “It’s a fine thing if you do,” he says, “but I don’t see what ‘we’ has to do with it.”

“Well, the world didn’t end, obviously, so all or work is less pressing, we actually have _time off_ now, and I haven’t seen my folks in _ages,_ my mom calls me all the time, ‘oh, _mein Doktor,_ when are you coming home-’”

“That is all well and good,” Hermann says, interrupting Newt’s high-pitched impression. “But what does this have to do with me?”

Newt stares at Hermann like he doesn’t understand the question. “Because...Christmas? Family? That kinda thing?”

“I do not celebrate Christmas and I am not part of your family. Therefore, I have no place in your family’s Christmas.” With that, he returns to his work, sure the conversation is over.

It isn’t. Of course it isn’t. “Okay, but holidays are holidays, dude, and I know for a _fact_ that the Gottlieb family hasn’t been having warm and fuzzy Hanukkahs-”

“Newton,” he says warningly. “The agreement.”

Newt huffs, annoyed. “We have to talk about it eventually, _Hermann_.”

“Not with the agreement in place. That’s the _point_.”

Newt makes _that_ face, the one where he looks as though words are ready to come pouring out of his mouth but he needs a moment to get them to come out in the order he wants. “Look, man, _stupid_ emotional repression stuff and whose family does what and, and which wintertime holidays we celebrate aside, we both need- no, _deserve_ a break, and you won’t regret it, okay, my  dad is a turkey-cooking _expert_ and my cousin Heidi and her husband bake great gingerbread, and their _kids,_ oh my god, I haven’t seen those kids in literal _years,_ Hermann, Simon must be five, no, _six_ by now-”

“Fine!”

This startles Newt out of his rant. He stops, blinks at Hermann. “Fine?”

“Fine,” he repeats. “We will go to...Geiszler family Christmas. Are you happy?”

Newton breaks out into an ecstatic grin. “ _Yes!_ Oh, yes yes _yes,_ Hermann, oh man, this is gonna be _awesome,_ you’re gonna love this. I swear!”

This is in late November and never comes up again, so Hermann assumes for three weeks that the Christmas argument was a brief obsession, the sort that Newton puts all of his concentration towards for two days and then forgets about. He is proved wrong on December eighteenth, when Newt looks up from his work and says, “Oh, hey, my mom says it’s been wicked cold back home, so you should pack your warmest jackets, okay?”

“Pardon?”

“For Christmas- Massachusetts winters can get pretty crazy, y’know, I know one year we had snowstorms up until Saint Patrick’s Day...” He looks at Hermann with wide, hopeful eyes. “You didn’t change your mind, did you?”

Hermann wants to tell the truth, that he never intended to go in the first place, that he only said yes to shut him up- but a week’s notice seems hardly fair to him or the Geiszler family. It is _not_ because he doesn’t want Newton to go deeply, unnaturally quiet in the way he does when he is genuinely upset. Of course not. “No, no- I was, I was distracted, it took me a moment to remember- the stresses of work, you understand.”

“Pffft. I shoulda known, man, you need to relax more, those numbers are _waaay_ less exciting now that there’s no apocalypse riding on them-”

“My work is no less important despite our continued existence, Newton-”

“Oh, please, you just _love_ numbers so much, you are gonna _marry_ numbers-”

“You are a _child,_ a literal child-”

Hermann spends all night packing, filling his suitcase, and in the meantime, he desperately tries to remember everyone who might be at the Geiszler Christmas, trying to recall every name Newt has ever rattled off in the context of family.

The next day, he buys presents for Newt’s parents, his aunt and uncle, his cousin and her husband, and their three children. He hopes that is the extent of the family, and if not, well, he will simply have to buy more presents in America.

(He doesn’t have the audacity to think they are particularly _good_ presents, but he does his best, and Newton can hardly begrudge him for that when he has bought these for people he has never met.)

They leave late at night on the twenty-second, a sixteen hour flight from Hong Kong to Boston. When they first board the plane, Newton, grinning, turns to Hermann and says, “You’re so gonna love this, dude, my family does the _best_ Christmas.”

“I’m sure they do.”

Newt drums his fingers anxiously on the side of his leg- Hermann knows from experience that the man is a _dreadful_ flyer. “Hermann- Hermann, you wanted to fly planes, right-”

“The _agreement,_ Newton.”

Newt rolls his eyes and sighs loudly. “Never said I knewthat from the _Drift_ -”

The agreement was simple. It was reached by the two of them a week after the closing of the Breach, after a few arguments gone sour due to the both of them using ammo from each other’s memories. In an attempt to keep the (relative) peace, they agreed they would not talk about what they saw in each other’s minds during the Drift. This, Hermann can tell, pains Newton considerably, as the man _desperately_ wants to talk about it, while Hermann does not. At _all_.

He can tell Newt doesn’t like it, and that does fill him with some guilt, but they haven’t had a truly nasty argument since the agreement was formed. And besides- if they can’t talk about anything they saw in the Drift, they can’t talk about a few choice subjects Hermann wants to avoid.

But at any rate, when the plane takes off and Newt squeezes his eyes shut and the _taptaptap_ of his fingers reaches an unbearable tempo, Hermann silently takes his hand and feels the fear fade away.

He does not look at Newt for the rest of the flight. But he doesn’t let go, either.

It is four in the morning on the twenty-third when they land in Boston. Newt has a rented car ready, so they can drive out to the suburb where the Geiszler family lives. The city streets are quiet, and the snow looks quite beautiful in the day’s first light.

The word _romantic_ flits through Hermann’s mind, and he can’t tell if it originated in his head or Newton’s. He glances at Newt carefully, but the man is cheerfully going on and on and doesn’t seem to notice.

“Ohhh, man, we should totally visit MIT while we’re here,” he says. “I was a _great_ professor, they loved me there- they’re asking me to come back, y’know, but I told them, man, not ‘til I finish up with the work the PPDC wants me to do, because as much as I love MIT, the whole ‘safety of the planet’ thing takes priority, y’know? But after we visit, I’m taking you to Faneuil Hall, there’s this place that does the _best_ sandwiches- I mean, if it’s still open. I _hope_ it’s still open-”

And on, and on.

They pull up to the Geiszler house at close to five AM. “Newton, are you sure we won’t be waking your parents?” Hermann asks. “Bothering them at this hour seems _quite_ rude-”

But Newt just laughs. “Trust me, dude, they’ll be up. Just watch.”

True to his word, they don’t even have to ring the doorbell. The front door swings open the moment they step on the porch. A middle-aged couple greets them with such enthusiasm Hermann finds it incredible they don’t wake the whole neighborhood.

“My boys!” the woman squeals, tugging them into the house by their jackets. “Jacob, _mein Schatz,_ close the door, don’t let the cold in! Oh, my boys! _Mein Doktor!_ ” She pulls Newt into a fierce hug and kisses his forehead. “Jacob, Jacob, look at our son! And oh! You must be Doctor Gottlieb!”

Before Hermann knows what is happening, he too is being hugged by the woman. “Oh, I’m so happy to finally meet you! My Newton has never brought anyone home to us before!”

“ _Mom,_ it’s not like that,” Newt, red-faced, protests from within his father’s grasp.

He is stoutly ignored. “How nice it is to have you here! Newt has talked about you _so_ much, but he never said you were so handsome!”

Hermann feels his cheeks heat up. “Er- well, Mrs. Geiszler, it is a pleasure to meet you-”

She waves her hand. “Please, call me Monica! I’m not even Mrs. Geiszler, I kept my maiden name for the stage. But I am Monica to you, darling!”

Monica is a tiny, petite woman who hardly looks her age, with a big smile and eyes that are startlingly like her son’s. She finally lets Hermann go, insisting he “meet my lovely husband, my Jacob!”

Jacob, a gray-haired man who manages to look enormous despite hardly being taller than Newt, shakes his hand heartily. “So you’re the one who saved the world with my boy! It’s an honor to meet you!”

“The- the honor is all mine,” Hermann says. He can see, all too easily, how a man like Newton could come from these people, sweet as they are. They are loud and warm and extraordinarily tactile, so different from Hermann’s family. He thinks, briefly, of Lars Gottlieb meeting Jacob Geiszler, and it makes him smile.

Monica seats them in the kitchen while Jacob goes to get their luggage from the car. Hermann and Newt both protest, but he waves them off, saying, “I carry instruments heavier than this at work every day! I’m fine, I’m fine, go sit.”

Monica places two mugs of hot chocolate before them. “Now, tell me,” she says. “I watched all the interviews and the press conferences, but no matter what, they are always _very_ vague about what you boys did to save the world. Is it top secret?”

“Well, _yeah,_ ” Newt says instantly. “ _Technically,_ it is highly sensitive information, and _technically,_ we’re not supposed to tell people exactly what happened. But...” He looks at Hermann with wide, pleading eyes.

“To be more precise,” Hermann says, “we are not to tell _the press_ about the specifics of our involvement, and we are not to discuss it with non-PPDC personnel through email, phone calls, or anything of the sort. If you want to be _technical,_ as Newton says, they never said anything about telling non-media personnel _in person_.”

They tell her everything- or most of everything. Newt leaves out any criminal element and most of the peril, though he can’t help but proudly mention that he finally got to see a kaiju up close, even if he does not mention how close he came to being eaten. Monica is an excellent audience- she asks questions, but not stupid ones, and gasps at all the right times. They tell the story again when Jacob returns, and god, it’s so easy to see how Newton became so fond of talking- the pair of them are fantastic listeners.

Finally, around eight, Monica stands and collects their empty mugs. “I suppose we ought to head to work,” she sighs.

Newt’s brow furrows. “What? You’ve got rehearsal this early?”

She laughs easily. “No, no- Jacob and I have been doing some administrative work at the opera house. They’re so busy with _The Nutcracker_ in full swing- besides, I’m too old to be a leading lady anymore! I’ve got to pick up the slack _somehow_.”

Halfway out the door, Monica says, “Oh! Newt, _liebling,_ when you’re all rested from your trip, could run to the store for me? I’ve got a list on the counter!”

“Sure, Mom!”

“Thank you, _mein Doktor_! Love you!”

“Love you too, Mom! Love you, Dad!” Newt smiles and leans back in his chair. “Well? You like my folks, Hermann?”

“They are...a lot like you.”

Newt laughs. “What, you hate them already?”

“Newton, honestly-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, jeez. Lighten up, dude.” He stands and plucks Monica’s list from the counter. “Let’s see...oh! Hey, Hermann, you’re in for a real treat- we’re making my Oma’s gingerbread recipe. You are gonna _love it_.”

“I’m sure I will. But for now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to change into clothes I haven’t been wearing for almost an entire day.”

“Oh yeah, sure, sure! C’mon, the bedrooms are upstairs-”

Newt follows him up the Geiszlers’ narrow staircase, never offering help, but always there if he needs it, the same way he’s done for the last ten years. At the top of the stairs, Newt bounds towards a half open door, saying something like, “They probably put me in my old room, let’s see where you- ah, shit.”

“What? Newton, what is it?”

Newt turns to him with a guilty look on his face. “Okay, don’t be mad.”

Hermann shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. “ _What_ am I not supposed to get angry with?”

“Look, this isn’t my fault, I never told them anything like we were- I never even _implied,_ okay, they just kinda...assumed, I dunno-”

Hermann peers into the room Newt is standing in front of and sees both of their suitcases and packages placed near a bed. A _singular_ bed.

“I don’t- I don’t know _why_ they’d ever think we were, um, t-together,” and Newt’s voice cracks painfully on the word, and Hermann would say something but that would mean breaching the agreement.

Instead, he says, “There are four bedrooms.”

“-could probably sleep on the floor if you- what?”

“I counted four bedrooms. One for your parents, one for your aunt and uncle, one for your cousin’s family, and one for us. Regardless of what your parents think our...relationship is, this is the most logical set-up given the number of rooms.”

Newt blinks, then nods slowly. “R-right. Okay. Yeah, that, that makes sense. Okay.”

“And you will not be sleeping on the floor. This is a perfectly spacious bed.” Traitorously, part of him thinks, _and neither of us really minds anyway,_ which violates the agreement to a dangerous degree.

Newt smiles. “Awesome! All right, dude, get dressed, ‘cause I am gonna _blow your mind_ with gingerbread.”

Letting Newt loose on a grocery store is a sight to behold. He glances at the list once and immediately adds a dozen superfluous items to their basket. He grabs things they _certainly_ do not need, and it is only through Hermann’s insistence that they get every item on the list.

“You _totally_ didn’t need to be such a _mother hen,_ ” Newt says at the checkout line.

“Newton, I may not be a baking expert, but I am _certain_ your purportedly ‘incredible’ gingerbread would not be half as excellent without molasses.”

The teenage girl working the cash register looks at them nervously. Newt notices, and says, “Aw, don’t worry about him. Hermann’s just a big, grouchy teddy bear.” He grins and _winks,_ damn him.

The girl blushes and smiles until she sees Hermann glowering. She makes a small apologetic noise and puts her full attention towards scanning their purchases.

“You are _such_ a grump, dude,” Newt says on their way back to the car. “Making your stupid scary faces at that poor kid.”

“I wouldn’t _have_ to if you didn’t insist on _flirting,_ ” Hermann replies.

Newt, to his credit, looks genuinely scandalized. “ _Flirting_? Are- are you kidding me? She’s, like, twelve!”

“Sixteen, I thought.”

“Whatever! Dude, I don’t flirt with teenagers! Don’t be gross, Hermann!”

Hermann looks at Newt’s honest face and feels a twinge of guilt. “My apologies. I...exaggerated. In fact, it looked more like _she_ was prepared to flirt with _you_.”

“What- really?” Newt lets out a surprised little laugh. “Huh! Guess I am still pretty cute after all!”

Hermann silently, privately agrees, then scowls at himself for it.

Back at the house, Newt tries to start baking before they even finish putting the other groceries away. “Newton, _really,_ ” Hermann says when he starts pulling out ingredients and bowls while still wearing his jacket, dripping with snow.

“Dude, I am _not kidding_ when I say this is the best gingerbread on the planet. No gingerbread in this or any other universe can live up to my Oma’s recipe.”

“And that is a fine thing, but you could _at least_ not track snow all over your parents’ kitchen.”

Newt pauses and silently backtracks, back to the door, where he kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket. He rolls his eyes at Hermann, but he still does it, and Hermann smiles with a sense of smug satisfaction.

When the other groceries are put away, Newt digs out an old recipe card and starts to bake. He does it with a focus usually reserved for kaiju entrails, and Hermann is rather struck by how concentrated he looks, even as he talks.

“-an old, old recipe from my dad’s side of the family, and it’s _delicious,_ Hermann, I know I keep saying that but I am _so serious_ \- Hermann, could you get the cookie cutters, they’re right in that cabinet, I think-”

Newton manages to shove three trays of cookies into the Geiszlers’ oven, and there is still dough left over. They take a break, with coffee for Newt and a mug of tea (“My mom has a _ton_ of this crap, she says it’s better for her voice-”) for Hermann.

“You seem awfully excited about all this,” Hermann says quietly.

Newt smiles eagerly. “Well, yeah! It’s been _years_ since I’ve been able to come home for Christmas, and my family’s so great, man.”

“Quite.”

He does not think there is any sadness showing on his face, because he is _very good_ at preventing this, but apparently he has failed, because Newt makes a guilty expression. “I’m- I’m sorry, man.” He reaches out across the table and rests his hand close, very close to Hermann’s, and Hermann lets him. “That’s- it’s a sore spot, I know-”

“Newton,” Hermann sighs. “Must I remind you?”

Newt pulls his hand away as if burned, and nods slowly. Hermann regrets saying anything, but Newt says, “Oh, dude, we forgot to make the icing- the cookies are _nothing_ without the icing,” and up they go again.

The icing seems to be made from little more than confectioner’s sugar and milk, whipped into a thick paste. “This stuff’s _delicious,_ man,” Newt says, holding out a spoon. “Go on! Give it a taste! I know you’ve got a sweet tooth.”

Hermann huffs, but licks the offered spoon anyway. It _is_ heavenly- incredibly sweet, it will work quite well with the spice of the gingerbread. He opens his eyes, the spoon still in his mouth, to see Newt smiling at him crookedly, and his breath catches in his throat.

The front door swings open at that very moment. “We’re back, _lieblinge_!” Monica cries, her arms laden with shopping bags. “Newt, _kleine,_ would you be a dear and grab some of these for me?”

“Mom, I’m _thirty-five,_ don’t call me _kleine,_ ” he says, but he takes some of her bags and holds the door for his father. “Geez, I went shopping like you asked- what’s all this for?”

“Last minute gifts,” Jacob says. “Your mother insisted!”

“I always do.” Monica ruffles Newt’s hair. “And I will call you _kleine_ all I want, _klein Doktor._ Ah, you’re baking! How is it?”

“The gingerbread’s coming along great,” Newt says. “Right, Hermann?”

“Ah- yes, yes, it is. Newton assures me the recipe is the greatest one he knows.”

Monica smiles. “My mother always was a wonderful baker. I’m glad my Newt got that talent even though I did not.”

Monica and Jacob go to their bedroom to wrap presents, “Because I don’t want you sneaking a peek!” Monica says, wagging a finger at Newt. “He’s always been bad- Hermann, lovely, watch out for this sneaky one!”

They ice the cookies together, and Newt forces Hermann to taste one- and he has to admit, they _are_ delicious. But he swats Newt’s hand away when he tries to grab another. “We have to save _some,_ ” he says. “Be patient.”

Newt sticks his tongue out at Hermann, and Hermann rolls his eyes. But he doesn’t complain when he watches Newt lick some stray icing from his fingers.

They go to bed early that night, still tired from the trip and the day’s work. Hermann is in bed first, reading a book while Newt showers. He sighs and leans against the headboard. He really does like Newton’s parents. They are sweet, charming people who love their son desperately, and are happy to see him again after so long apart. He is...he is a bit jealous, he’ll admit it. But mostly he is glad that Newt has the loving, warm family that he did not grow up with.

“Uh. So.”

He looks up at the doorway, where Newt is standing, hesitating, clad in a faded t-shirt and worn boxers. There is naked apprehension on his face, and suddenly Hermann’s heart hurts with how much he wants to kiss this man. “Yes? Come now, Newton, sharing a bed shouldn’t be difficult. After everything else we’ve done.”

Newt opens his mouth to say something, but instead, he just nods and walks towards the bed. “You, uh...you’re having a good time, right?”

“Well...yes. Yes, I am. Your parents are...interesting people. Very likable,” he adds at Newt’s raised eyebrow. “Are you glad to be home?”

“Oh, _yeah_. It’s...” Newt shrugs as he gets comfortable in the bed. Hermann tries vainly to ignore how nice this feels, Newt radiating warmth and sitting so close. “It’s nice. I mean- I did sort of think that things would be different? Somehow? I dunno.” He drops his head to the pillow and gestures vaguely at the ceiling. “I can’t really explain it. It’s just weird that nothing’s changed.”

“Better to stay the same than to change for the worse,” Hermann says quietly.

Newt doesn’t say anything in response. He nods silently, then puts his glasses on the nightstand. “I’m gonna go to sleep. Big day tomorrow.” He grins at Hermann. “Christmas Eve! G’night, Hermann.”

“Good night, Newton.” Hermann turns the bedside lamp off and lays down, close to the edge of the bed so he cannot possibly brush against Newton.

He wakes up early in the morning, when the sky is slate gray and dark, and he finds he is curled up next to Newt. Newt’s arm is thrown haphazardly over Hermann’s hip, and Hermann’s face is almost _buried_ in Newt’s wild hair.

He wants to pull back, get out of Newt’s grasp before the other man wakes up and this becomes more awkward than it already is. But it’s so _nice_ to lay here like this. Newt’s hair is soft and smells fresh and clean from his shower, and his embrace is warm.

For a moment, he allows himself to imagine how nice it would be to wake up like this every morning. Then, he wriggles out from under Newt’s arm as gracefully as he can and goes to take a short, cold shower.

He’s dressed and heading downstairs before Newt is even close to waking up. When he enters the kitchen, Monica, clad in a nightgown and bathrobe, turns around and beams at him. “Good morning, Hermann!”

“Oh- good morning. Er, Monica.” The lack of formality does not surprise him in the least, even though he’s only known this woman for a day. Clearly he’s known Newton for far too long. “I came down hoping to make a cup of tea-”

“Of course! What would you like?”

Immediately, Monica is making two cups of Earl Grey. Hermann almost goes tense, worrying she’s trying to dote on him, as if he can’t do it himself, until she asks, “Could you start the toast for me? The bread and butter are just in the fridge, and there’s jam if you want it. Strawberry!”

_Gott,_ he can’t remember when he last saw real strawberry jam. God bless the American east coast, God bless the Atlantic Ocean for remaining safe from the Breach. He’s perfectly happy to make toast for the both of them.

“So,” Monica says. “You’ve known my Newt for a long time.”

“I have. Over a decade, now.” Twelve long, sometimes painful, often incredible years, though he’s not quite sure how to vocalize just how it felt without it sounding like insults.

Monica smiles and shakes her head. She looks...lost in thought. “That long? _Scheiße_ , you must be patient.”

Her honestly startles a small smile out of him. “Not as patient as I’d like, I’m afraid.”

“But patient enough. I love my son more than anything, but I know how he can be. Stubborn, his teachers said. Other people...” She shakes her head. “Well, they were less kind. But you’re so young, too- you understand, don’t you?”

God yes, does he understand. “I do,” he says. “The both of us are young and stubborn, which isn’t always appreciated in our line of work.”

Monica laughs and nods. “Oh, Jacob and I were so young when we had him, still trying to be big musicians while raising a little boy too smart for his own good. I know we weren’t perfect.”

“Newton seems to disagree-”

“Oh, _liebling_. Maybe he thinks that, but plenty of people don’t.”

Hermann sits up a little straighter. “No family is perfect. Not a single one. But I know many who would have loved a Monica Schwartz and a Jacob Geiszler.”

She smiles warmly at him. “You know, I was going to warn you to look after my little boy. But now I think, perhaps I should make sure _he_ knows to look after _you_.”

“I- it’s, it isn’t like-”

He is interrupted by the _thump_ of the stairs and a loud yawn. “Morning,” Newt says, shuffling into the kitchen, still in his boxers and t-shirt. Hermann stares at him, incredulous as to how he can be as shameless as ever, even in his parents’ home, tattooed and rumpled in the gray light of morning. “Nnn. Coffee?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Hermann says. He’s _seen_ what Newt can do to a coffeemaker this early in the morning.

He steadfastly ignores the look Monica gives him, and Newt’s soft, sleepy smile.

The rest of the morning is spent with Hermann and Jacob cooking and Monica and Newt readying the other guest rooms, preparing for the arrival of the rest of the Geiszler family. Hermann isn’t much of a cook, but Jacob’s food smells _delightful_ , traditional German meals mixed with more American fare, and all of it reminds him of his own home. Well- the good memories of home, anyway, of which there aren’t particularly many. But it’s nice.

At four in the afternoon, when the sun is just beginning to disappear, a large blue van pulls into the driveway. Monica and Newt let out identical squeals of delight at it, and Jacob flings the front door open to let a pack of seven chattering people inside.

Hermann stands awkwardly at the back of the room while the Geiszlers envelop each other in hugs, laughing and talking over each other. He privately wonders how difficult it would be to sneak into the next room when Newt grabs his arm. “Hermann! Hermann, man, meet my family! Guys! Meet the _second_ greatest mind in the PPDC!”

“Newton, honestly-”

Newt only gives him a wide, teasing grin. “My cousin Heidi and Jack, her husband, their little _Gören_ , Simon, Bethany, and Jessica, aaand Auntie Anna and Uncle Gunther!”

He recognizes all of them from Newt’s memories, but Gunther’s face immediately elicits warm, tender feelings in him. Gunther has always been Newt’s favorite, he knows.

“Doctor Gottlieb!” Gunther booms. He claps a large hand onto Hermann’s shoulder and grins from ear to ear. “My nephew has told me so much about you!”

“Has he?”

“ _Ja, ja!_ The first time you send him a letter, he drives to my house and starts waving it in my face, ‘ _Onkel Gunther, Onkel Gunther,_ _der Mathematiker,_ he wrote me back!’”

Hermann glances to his left to see Newt’s face, bright red, as he stammers, “No, no, it was _not_ like that, I may have _called_ -”

“ _Nein!_ I remember perfectly!”

Hermann chuckles and removes his wrist from Newt’s grasp so he can shake Gunther’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Newton likes to talk about you often.”

Gunther smiles at him. “Good, good! I helped raise that boy!”

After dinner, they gather around the piano in the living room. It seems that the entire Geiszler family is made up of musicians- Jacob on piano, Monica and her _divine_ voice, Gunther with a fiddle. Anna finds an acoustic guitar and happily strums them through “Edelweiss”. Heidi apparently plays trumpet, a talent little Simon would also like to boast when he’s older.

“Newt, _liebling,_ do I still have your drum set?” Monica asks.

Newt laughs, red-cheeked and loose from the rum-spiked eggnog. “Aw, _that_? Nah, sorry, I had to sell that to make rent one semester, back in grad school.”

“Newton Geiszler! You never told me that!”

“...I didn’t?”

And on and on. Hermann, too, feels rather tipsy from the eggnog, but he thinks it’d take him quite a lot to get him properly drunk. Newt, lightweight though he may be, is little more than buzzed. Hermann has had many years to get to know the signs of Newt’s varying levels of drunkenness, and this is perfectly fine.

“Newt! Newt!” Bethany tugs eagerly at the leg of Newt’s jeans. “Can you play Jingle Bells?”

“Aw, sure! Dad, Dad, get up, Beth wants me to play Jingle Bells.”

Hermann watches as Newt drops down in front of the piano. Though he’s often expressed his distaste for Newt’s “rock star” attitude, by god, the man can play the piano. Hermann sings along, which earns him a wide smile from Newt. What, as if he thought Hermann didn’t know the song? Really, now.

“Newt, _liebling!_ ” Monica cries. “You didn’t tell me Hermann had such a lovely voice! Oh, Hermann, do you know Winter Wonderland?”

“Er- I think I do, but I’m not...I’m, I’m not much of a-”

“Four parts! Soprano, me, Anna, you have such a lovely alto, Newt can do a good tenor if he focuses-”

“ _Mom_ -”

“And Hermann on bass, _ja?_ ”

Singing with others makes him less nervous, though he really isn’t totally certain on the words. But the Geiszlers make up for him, and they fawn over him when they’re done. Newt grins at him, and the eagerness in his eyes makes Hermann want to kiss him.

Heidi and Jack bring their children up to bed later in the evening, promising that the sooner they fall asleep, the sooner Santa Claus can arrive. Hermann helps Jacob and Gunther with the dishes from dinner while Newt plays the piano and Monica sings.

_“Silent night, holy night...”_

Jacob pauses in washing a dish and he smiles at the music. “Too bad he’s so smart,” he chuckles softly. “That boy would have been one hell of a pianist.”

Soon enough, Hermann and Newt are the only ones left downstairs. Hermann’s cane is muffled by the living room carpet, and Newt doesn’t hear him as he walks up to his back.

The song, which had been a melody Hermann didn’t recognize- possibly one of Newt’s own devising -changes to one he’s more familiar with. He doesn’t expect it when Newt starts singing, and it serves as further evidence that he doesn’t know Hermann is still here.

_“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas...just like the ones I used to know...where the treetops glisten, and children listen to hear sleighbells in the snow...”_

He’s no Bing Crosby, to be fair, but he has a _nice_ voice, when he’s quiet. Hermann smiles at the back of his head and silently sits down in one of the chairs near the piano.

Newt glances up, briefly, and sees Hermann, but he doesn’t stop playing or singing. He nods, just a bit, before returning his gaze to the keys.

Hermann looks out the window and smiles. “You’ll have that white Christmas after all,” he says when Newt’s done.

Newt follows his gaze and breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, _man_. Come on, dude-”

He leads Hermann out the back door so they can stand on the porch and watch the snow fall in the night sky. “Wow,” Newt says. “I never get sick of snow on Christmas, dude. Y’know, last time I was home for Christmas, we didn’t have any.”

“No? When was that?”

“Mmm- December after Trespasser. Yeah, that’s right.”

Hermann looks away from the snow to stare at Newt. “Twelve years? This is your first Christmas at home in twelve years?”

“I mean- I’ve _visited_ plenty, yeah, but I just...I haven’t gotten the chance to come home for Christmas since then.” He shrugs, leaning against the wall of the house. “I missed it. I missed _them_.”

“Plenty more opportunities now,” Hermann says. “Just a few more weeks until the anniversary of the closing of the Breach.”

Newt lets out a breathless laugh. “A whole _year_ \- Jesus. I can’t believe it. It hasn’t felt that long at all.”

“No. No, I suppose it hasn’t.”

They stand in silence for a while, watching the snow. It’s cold, _damn_ cold, but Hermann doesn’t want to go back inside yet.

“Can I just-” Newt turns around suddenly and takes hold of Hermann’s hand. “I just- I wanted to say. Uh, well. _Fuck_ the agreement.”

“Newton-”

“No, no, _please_ let me just-” Newt takes a deep breath and stares at Hermann with wild, stony intensity.

His eyes are so _green_.

“I have spent almost a _year_ not talking about our stupid Drift, all because you demanded we didn’t talk about it and I didn’t- I didn’t want to drive you away or, or piss you off for good. But I-” He shakes his head. “I _can’t_ not talk about it, man, especially when I don’t understand. ‘Cause- ‘cause I _love_ you, Hermann, and I know that you love me, too. And I don’t know why we didn’t just- just _work it out_ , because isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? We love each other and, and we give each other promise rings or whatever, and I-” Newt stares at him, his resolve turned to desperation. “I don’t _get it_ , man.”

“I...” To hell with it. Out with the truth, then, if that’s what they’re doing. “I thought it was...infatuation. On your part.”

Newt laughs, and it almost sounds like crying. “Dude, I’ve known you for _twelve years_. By now, I can only either love you or hate you. And- and guess which one it is, dumbass.”

Hermann pulls him into a kiss. He’s so _tired_ of waiting, so tired of coming up with stupid excuses like that because he’s been terrified that what he saw in the Drift was wrong. “I love you,” he whispers against Newt’s mouth. “Newton Geiszler, I _love_ you.”

“I love you,” Newt says. His eyes are wide, like he doesn’t want to miss a single detail of this moment. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Merry Christmas,” Hermann says.

“Merry- Merry Christmas, man. And, uh.” He laughs again and presses his forehead against Hermann’s. “Uh, sorry for forgetting all about Hanukkah, but. Happy Hanukkah, too.”

“Not a problem. There’s always next year.”

“Next year,” Newt repeats. He nods, beaming, before he kisses Hermann again, like they’re sealing a promise. And, well- he supposes that’s what they’re doing, really.

Their shared bed is so warm after coming in from the cold. They spend the rest of Christmas Eve tangled up together.


End file.
